Kill of the Night
by lolasatsuma
Summary: Kurt is a serial killer who preys on married men. Blaine is the Detective trying to arrest him.
1. Chapter 1: You're my Kill of the Night

**WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Sex and death \o/**

* * *

Mr Jackson groans as he thrusts deeper into the younger man, clutching firmly onto his lovers milky pale skin, hard enough to leave bruises. The younger man buried his face into the pillow to muffle his moans of pleasure and raised his ass up higher, silently willing Mr Jackson to go faster, take him harder.

The older man wrapped his arms around the younger man's torso and lifted him up so that he could ride him, moving himself to sit in the middle of the bed. His lover enthusiastically rode him, letting out high pitched keens of delight every time he dropped down onto Mr Jackson's lap. Strips of moonlight filtered in, decorating his lover in pearly white beams. He look positively sinful.

Cursing, Mr Jackson lifted his hips up to meet the man's bounces. His lover screamed when Mr Jackson hit his prostate with every single angry thrust. He felt the white hot pleasure building up inside of him until he finally spilled over the edge, his lover not too far behind him.

* * *

"Matthew Jackson, 46, was found dead in his hotel room in Manhatten at around 6:35 in the morning. The coroners report states that he died at approximately 1 o' clock in the morning from a lethal amount of arsenic running through his system." Detective Anderson stated, talking clearly into the microphone in front of him. Journalists, photographers and the general public listened with an air of familiar anxiousness that the city had grown accustom to over the past six months.

Detective Anderson cleared his throat, "We believe that he was murdered by the Guardian Angel due to the similarity of his death to the other Guardian Angel victims. We advise you all to stay safe and keep an eye out. If you hear or see anything suspicious, please contact the NYPD as soon as you can. Thank you. Are there any questions?"

* * *

Mr Jackson laid back in his hotel room bed, eyes close and a small smirk gracing his features while he listened to the clinking of glasses and the slosh of champagne being poured. "You know this gets better every time we do it." he said, his voice low and rumbling with content. He opened his eyes to see his naked lover at the the hotel room bar, two full champagne glasses in his hands, a sweet smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth.

"That's true," he said, voice high and innocently seductive, "I must have learned how to be a great lay from you, Matt." he winked at Mr Jackson and sat on the edge of the bed, placing the glasses down on the bedside table. Mr Jackson came up from behind his lover and kissed his shoulder blades, hands roaming over the broad chest of the man in front of him. His lover moaned, leaning his head back onto Mr Jackson's chest. "You're ready to go already? I thought you older guys needed a day or two to recover?"

Mr Jackson chuckled into the warm skin of his lover's neck, placing a small kiss there before pulling away and whispering into his ear, "Some of us are just more eager than others."

His lover pushed him off in good nature and fixed him with a playful look, "Well, unfortunately I don't think my ass could take another pounding from you, you really went for it."

The older man shrugged with mock innocence and a grin. He then reached for one of the champagne glasses only to be stopped by his lover. "Hold on, Matt. I need to ask you something." His lover looked at him with his startling blue eyes, full of so many different emotions, "Do you love me?"

Mr Jackson froze and then let out a short sharp burst of laughter, "Love?" he chuckled and cupped his lovers face, "I could never love you, it would do horribly for my reputation."

The man nodded, looking down, "That's what I thought," he looks up, something dangerous glimmering in his eyes, "Well then, let's drink up!"

* * *

Detective Blaine Anderson looked around the crime scene with a faraway look on his face. He let NYPD's finest scope the room for any trace of DNA or fingerprints that could help them find out who The Guardian Angel actually was. Blaine already knew that they would find nothing. Guardian was careful, annoyingly so. They never left any clues behind as to lead Blaine into knowing who exactly was becoming the most infuriating person in Blaine's life.

Blaine was put on as the leader of The Guardian Angel after the second murder five months ago. He was embarrassingly naive and had sent off a ginger tuft of hair that he had found on the victim's trousers which he was convinced belonged to Guardian, only to have it sent back the next day with a note telling him that it belonged to the victim's cat.

He had since learned that Guardian was neat, sneaky and could somehow walk into places undetected. Which was a pain when you were trying to find someone.

A small, elvish kid with thick glasses and sandy blonde hair walked up to him, biting his lip, "Detective, sir?"

Blaine looked at him tiredly, "How's things looking, Chandler? Are we any closer to finding this bastard? _Please _tell me Guardian left behind their passport and social security number, that would make my job so much easier.

Chandler laughed nervously and looked back at the small forensics team still brushing the room down for evidence, "Doesn't look like it, sir. In fact the only DNA we could find was a fingerprint belonging to the victim."

"Of course there isn't any evidence, because that would make my life easier and we just can't have that now can we." Blaine muttered, sarcasm coating his words. He then pinched the bridge of hhis nose and sighed, "I'm sorry Chandler, I just had a rough morning and then there's this and it's just too much right now."

"It's okay," Chandler shrugged with a sweet grin on his face, "You should stop frowning though. _Humble Hummel _from _Vogue Magazine _says that people who frown a lot get wrinkles in their thirties and that it makes you 40% more likely to get a brain tumor."

Blaine stared at him, "Thanks, Chandler."

The younger man smiled at him, "So what's making you all frown-y anyway? Did you step in dog shit again?"

"No." Blaine said, the word tinged with rancor, "Chandler, do yourself a favor and never get married, it never works well. It starts off all happy and you actually love each other and then all of a sudden he's yelling at me about how we never have sex any more and I'm telling him that it's probably to do with the fact that there's a _serial killer _on the loose."

Chandler hissed sympathetically.

"Yeah," Blaine mumbled gloomily, looking down and picking at his fingernails.

"Well, do you want my advice?" Blaine shrugged, "Try and stop taking your work home with you. Leave the Guardian with me and the rest of the NYPD and go have some hot sweaty man sex with your husband."

Blaine chuckled, "If only it were that easy."

* * *

The man had watched the life drain out of Mr Jackson's eyes, the spark dimming and fading into nothing. It was always the part of these nights that he lived for. He felt like he could practically _feel _the rhythmic thudding in his victim's chest slow from a somber and lonely beat to nothing. It was the silence. The stillness. The suddenness of it all. That was what kept him doing this.

He packed away his kit and made for the door, doing a quick sweep of the room to see if he had forgotten anything. Concluding that he hadn't, he opened the door and walked down and out through the lobby of the hotel, unseen.

He pulled out his phone, dialed a number and pressed it up to his ear, "He's gone. Can I rely on you for damage control?"

"Of course you can, for a price of course." came the gruff voice that he had grown to love in this past year.

The man looked up to the sky, cheeks pink from the fall chill, "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

* * *

Blaine opened the door to his apartment, his whole body deflated and drained from a day of dead ends and dead bodies. He sighed deeply and closed the door behind him, slumping against it with his eyes closed. Why was The Guardian so hard to find? Most other serial killers weren't so eager to make no show of their killings. Nothing about the Guardians killing were strange or sent out any warning or message. Blaine groaned, hitting the back of his head against the door.

"Try not to hit too hard, dear. You might lose brain cells, and you need them if you want to catch Guardian."

Blaine opened his eyes and saw his husband, Sebastian, leaning up against the kitchen door frame. He almost smiled at him when he remembered their fight from that morning, so instead he just frowned at him and pushed himself off the door and into their bedroom without so much as a word towards Sebastian.

Making up can wait for a night as far as Blaine was concerned and if Sebastian didn't like that then he could leave.

He just hoped the Guardian didn't kill again as he slept.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone! I hope you liked that beginning chapter. It's short because it's a kinda prologue to the whole story, future chapters will be up to 5k words a piece. Thank you all for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2: My Cold Desire

Kurt was woken up by the smell of coffee wafting up his nose and the sound of Rachel wailing out the latest Katy Perry hit on the radio. At a quick glance at his alarm clock it told him it was 12:45pm. He groaned and pulled the duvet up and over his face, not caring that his feet were exposed to the cold air of his room.

"Kurt!" Rachel sang, a bright chirpiness to her tone, like a magpie before it was shot by an angry huntsman, "I know you're awake because I heard you groan! Come on out, I made your breakfast- well, lunch."

He cursed at his privacy curtains idea and wondered who much it would cost to install doors and walls in to their apartment. He buried his face into his pillow relishing the warmth and comfort it gave him and then pulled himself up, back stiff from oversleeping. Sometimes working all night had its issues, mainly having to get up the next morning to join the living, much to his displeasure.

As Kurt made his way into the kitchen and dining area, feet dragging and his eyes half closed, Rachel gave him an appraising look, one eyebrow raised. She looked like an undersized parent with the hand on her hip and the stern glare, even if she did only reach his shoulder. "Jesus, Kurt. What time did you get in last night? You look dead."

"Thanks so much for that confidence boost, Rachel. I love you too." Kurt muttered monotonously, pouring out some coffee and cradling the mug. At her insistent look, he shuffled away to sit at the dining table, "A little after four I think? I don't know."

Rachel let out a disappointed, "Kurt".

Kurt had the decency to look down at his mug, fluttering red like a child being scorn by his mother. Which Rachel acted like half of the time. Ever since Finn had died, she seemed to be focusing all of her attention onto Kurt, which was difficult because their paths hardly ever crossed any more what with Kurt working on his projects most nights and Rachel at NYADA. It wasn't like Kurt didn't love Rachel with his whole heart but sometimes he just really wanted to scream at her to cut it out and that he is not her child and she is most certainly _not_ his mother. She would never be his mother.

Rachel sighed and sat down opposite him and placed a hand over his, looking into his eyes with those rich brown eyes. How many times have they both been in this situation before, Kurt wonders, with Rachel just simply trying to understand what he's doing and Kurt drained and desperate of his coffee.

"Kurt," she said heavily, "You can't keep doing this to yourself. It's not healthy. All these late nights..." she pauses looking down, eyes closed as if she were remembering a line. She probably is, Kurt thinks, trying to remember the same monologue that she gives him after every long night. "I know you've been going through a lot in these past few months with Adam and Finn-" she breaks of, biting her bottom lip.

"It's not about them," Kurt says quietly, "I just need some time for myself."

"Yourself, and a warm body?"

_Mostly warm,_ he thinks, _depending on how long I stay._

Rachel just looks at him, those intense eyes trained on him, "I don't want you to get hurt. It's dangerous to be out late at night. Especially with psychos on the loose."

Kurt smirked, "Somehow I think The Guardian Angel wont hurt me."

There was a small pause where Kurt awkwardly lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip and Rachel continued to gnaw at her lip, making it become flushed and chapped.

"You can never be so sure." Rachel said softly.

* * *

The wonderful thing about being the writer for his own page in Vogue was that he never really needed to come into the offices themselves, instead choosing to curl up under his duvet and type away at his laptop. Humble Hummel wasn't a fashion column, although it did sometimes stray into that area. It was what Kurt like to think of as the perfect blend of Agony Aunt and Time magazine. He would talk about the worlds troubles, his own opinions on the matter and then how the general public could avoid these problems.

He was hired when he was just an intern to write half a page on his favourite accessories because the person they had normally had to fill that space was fired for sleeping with the boss' daughter. He was told an hour before print that he was picked to fill the space because "you're funny, you work well under pressure and you wont fuck my daughter."

After it was published, he was told how much people loved his dry and brutal honestly about fashion choices and how his sarcasm practically radiated from the page. His boss had hugged him and Humble Hummel was born. He had been writing these articles for almost a year now and he wasn't sure if it was going to be a thing that he did for the rest of his life but it drew in a decent amount of money so he was comfortable with it.

He was looking over his newest article, about a subject of which he knew well but was particularly eager to talk about; himself. Well, sort of.

_"So this week the so-called 'Guardian Angel' struck again. I know that this section doesn't normally cover anything more serious than the importance of making sports teams wear bedazzled letterman jackets in high school, but I think it's been long enough. I kinda feel like it's my duty to stick my fabulous flag of blunt opinions into the whole GA situation. First of all, I tip my hat to who ever can leave any room in NYC cleaner than how they entered it because I didn't think anyone could do that seeing as grime is in the DNA structure of everything and everyone in this city. Second of all, I think that the police should probably pick up the pace with this one before the GA kills another. Seriously, Dectective Anderson's handsome and all but he looks like he just graduated like, yesterday. Let the big boys play with this case, okay NYPD? Not some kid who just wants to play Cops and Robbers. In fact, it's been six months and six killings for each of them. Maybe you really should fire Anderson, seeing as he's obviously not doing a great job. Did anyone tell the NYPD that it's not 'Bring Your Kids To Work Day'? Anyway, this has been a long winded and rather bias opinion on the whole Guardian Angel situation. Or rather the police and their lack of progress in the catchings of the killer. But then again, aren't all of my opinions long winded and biased? These things wouldn't be fun if they weren't."_

There was a knock at his door and Rachel poked her head in, "I'm about to head out for school, if you go out today, make sure you text me where you're going."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Like you would ever let it go if I didn't."

"You know it, baby." she winked and blew a kiss at him before leaving. Kurt chuckled and listened to the heels of her boots click against the floorboards and the sound of the front door sliding open and then closed again. He waited a few seconds before finishing off his article, ("Send me any of your suggestions on what I should talk about next at my email below!") and closing his laptop. He breathed in a deep breath and relaxed. Alone at last.

Being alone suited him. He could do what he liked when he was alone. Think what he liked and do whatever he pleased without the incredulous looks and questions from anyone around him. Just himself and his beating heart.

Perfect.

Kurt groped around underneath his bed for the bag he had thrown under there when he had stumbled in that morning, bleary eyed and yawning. His fingers brushed against the straps and he pulled it from underneath him and into his lap. Unzipping it, he pulled out each of the items he had grown so attached to these past few months. His leather gloves, fashionable (of course) but also incredibly useful when in the cleaning stages of his projects. His cleaning products, that left no smell but did the job extremely well. His skimpy outfit, which was more for show than with any help towards the actual night itself. And then finally-

The arsenic.

He studied it as he rolled it around in his palm. This precise bottle wasn't use the previous night as his old bottle was empty and was of no use to him any more to he refilled it after his trip to the Fury's apartment. He found it interesting how he could probably kill all of his friends, acquaintances and random strangers with just this one bottle. He wasn't going to, of course, he would get caught. If everyone in Kurt Hummel's life were all suddenly found with no more life in them than the baby bird Kurt had stood on when he was ten, then people would know that it was him. And then they would find his kit and connect those killings to the Guardian Angel killings. And that couldn't happen. Not ever.

Kurt sniffed and put the new bottle to one side, pulling out his newest picture and the bulky Polaroid camera at the bottom of the bag. If his life wasn't already so busy, Kurt probably could have become a professional photographer. He just had a talent for getting the light to reflect off of bodies just so to make their greying skin even more grotesque and sickening to look at. Their blank, cold eyes staring out to the sky in one last frozen picture of fear and confusion. He was lucky that this one died with their eyes open, that was a treat for him.

He smiled fondly at the memory and shook his head, he could day dream later. He had to pick a new project to work on.

* * *

The way he chose his new projects was simple enough. He was invited to many a formal gathering due to having an old friend whose family was 'old money' and they never ever wanted to go to the big gatherings. So Kurt went, claimed he was Jason Gord at the door and once he was inside (in case he ran into anyone from Jason' life and to avoid any unfortunate situations) he was a journalist who wanted the latest scoop from the upper class lords and ladies of New York City. This way he would meet a wide range of men who would be his new projects and he would pick the ones that appealed to his 'needs' more.

The people that normally filled the shoes were men who were married (usually to women) who were just looking for a hole to come inside. Which Kurt was more than happy to supply. Just because he was going to murder them at the end of it all was no reason for why he shouldn't get a few weeks of pleasure and free stuff out of it. Was he a whore? Probably. But God help him if he didn't love every minute of it.

Jason had callled earlier that week, a few days before Mr Jackson's fortunate demise, begging him to take his place at an upcoming a masked ball on the Saturday and Kurt had agreed. It's not like you get invited to a masked ball every day and Kurt had an amazing design in mind to tease and well as please for his costume. Needless to say he was excited. The small romantic inside of him reminded him of it was at a masquerade ball where Romeo and Juliet met in the Leonardo DiCarprio version. To which Kurt replied with the blunt fact that while Romeo may die, Juliet would just run away and bend over for Mercutio instead. Until she slipped poor Mercy her lethal poison.

Kurt pauses, he would watch that film.

Claire Danes would be an awesome killer.

* * *

**A/N: Hollaaa~ Not much happens in this chapter, but you do get to see inside of Kurt's brain oooooh. Yeah so we'll see Blaine again in the next chapter. I just wanted to focus more on Kurt in this one. Tell me if you think he's in character. I'm not gonna go super cliche in this fic. Kurt's canon character doesn't change much at all in this. He's still adorable, a hopeless romantic and saracstic; he just also happens to be a serial killer.**

**Also, yes I know I said the chapters would be longer (and this one is longer... just not but much) but I have a LOT of deadlines coming up and it's all very stressful. **

**Hope you enjoyed it ^.^**


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